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The dishes were done; the flour and bowls were on the table, awaiting the early morning task of daily breadmaking. The staff had all been sent to bed. Tomorrow would be the start of two days of final preparations for the handfasting. The last of the baking would need to be done; the Inn decorated; the lantern lights strung in the trees about the Inn’s front yard.
Cook set out the baskets for the lasses to gather eggs from the hens in the morning, banked the little hearth fire, and placed a tea pot in waiting near it for her early morning cuppa. Last thing on her list was fresh water for the cat . . . no, she reminded herself . . . cats, now. The old grey tabby had settled into her nest of old blankets near the fire. But the other one, the new one, was still out and about on whatever rounds he’d thought up for himself. She left one of the small windows near the back door open a crack in case he chose to come in.
One last look about the kitchen, then her tired old feet slap-slapped across the clean wood floor and into her room.
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